


The Farewell of Catelyn Stark

by BluJae



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark if you squint., The Crypts, The End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25257658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluJae/pseuds/BluJae
Summary: Rumors found her years later that the Northern Queen was ill. Lady Stoneheart had turned North. The last of her children would be leaving this earthly domain and she intended to be with her in her last hours.The last of the Starks was going home.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling
Comments: 35
Kudos: 102





	The Farewell of Catelyn Stark

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own. No beta.
> 
> Edited to rectify the tags (15th July)

The days slip by into weeks, months, and then years. Harvests, name-days, and celebrations come and go with regularity yet they all seem so inconsequential to Lady Stoneheart. She had been born again with vengeance on her tongue and hatred in her heart. She had killed Lannisters and Freys with a single determination. Until there was no more Lannister's or Frey's left to kill.

She imagined on that day she would have felt relief but there was none to have. She wasn’t a creature for normal human emotions. Her task done she disappeared into the woods hoping the gods would find kindness and welcome her home.

They did not.

She still heard stories, however. It was easy to listen in on people passing by or in the taverns when she sometimes found her loneliness too much. Hood up, head down most knew not to make trouble in her presence and left her alone for the most part.

Sansa had taken back Winterfell and had been named Queen of the North. Bran voted to be King in the South. Arya, that wild child who had taken most of the Freys in one swift go had left Westeros for adventure on the seas. Jon Snow had been banished to the Wall.

She had heard all their stories eventually. Sansa’s marriages and rapes, Jon Snow's rise to Lord Commander and his death by his own men, only to rise again. She wondered if he was like her but then dismissed it when she heard him rallying the armies of the North to take back Winterfell with Sansa by his side. She learned that Rickon had lived and then died. That would have hurt Catelyn Stark but the Lady was not a mother anymore. Not really.

The northern lords named Jon Snow king. That had once been her nightmare as well, the bastard usurping her children's rights but she found little emotion when she heard.

She heard of the monsters beyond the wall that marched south intent on laying waste to everything. She heard of the dragon queen and her dragons. The drunk men had toasted Arya saying she had killed the Night King, and Lady Stoneheart smiled because of course, she did.

The stories from Kings Landing came fast and frequent. The Dragon Queen had gone mad and burnt the city and Jon Snow who had bent the knee to her had killed her. 'Queenslayer,' they said. 'Kinslayer,' they hissed.

That had given the Lady some grief though muted and still far from her. Ned had never dishonored her. But lies are still dishonor and he had lied to them all. The boy had been family after all. Her husband had allowed her to besmirch her family's words, those she held so dear to her hear to protect him. 

Westeros prospered under Stark rule. Her children were good rulers as their father had shown them years before. But people do not live forever.

Bran had died at 48, in his sleep. A body broken like his would have always been prone to illness Meater Luwin had advised all those years ago. The Southern Kingdom keened for the loss and Lady Stoneheart wished she could do the same. Though that part of her was lost to the river, where her lifeblood had seeped into the water.

Still, Bran had left a good legacy and the next monarch was just as good or so they say. She retreated further into the woods rarely venturing out.

Rumors found her years later that the Northern Queen was gravely ill. Lady Stoneheart had turned north. The last of her children would be leaving this earthly domain and she intended to be with her in her last hours. Too long had she hidden in shadow.

It was easy enough to slip into Winterfell and find the Queen's chambers though she easily noted the changes. Winterfell had burned and had seen war but still, it stood. Sansa had not been idle in her rule, repairing and expanding her home. The guards at the door blocked her way only momentarily before allowing her through. She knew that Sansa had allowed the smallfolk to see her before she went with the Stranger. That was the kindness Sansa had for her people.

“Hello, Mother.”

Her voice was brittle with old age. The Lady stood for a moment remembering the high girlish trill of her daughter before moving across the room to sit next to the bed. The queen was now in the winter of her life, her once proud tall posture shrunken and withered, her red hair diminished and grey. Though the Lady could still see her sharp eyes and regal tilt of her chin.

“It's been a long time.”

The lady nodded.

“Thank you for being here. I find that in all that I have faced during my long life I am a tad scared to leave.”

The Lady hesitated before reaching out a curdled hand and grasped her daughters. The hand was soft and leathery with age and at least that was one gift the Gods saw fit to give her daughter. A long life, one where she was loved and revered by her people. The Lady knew her daughter would go down in history as a kind and just queen. That songs would be sung of her beauty, her strength, and intelligence.

“I am the last of them.” The queen looked away and seemed to be searching and seeing something that the Lady could not. “The last of the Starks.

It was true. Bran could never father children. Arya had died out at sea. Even Jon Snow hadn’t fathered any children beyond the wall. And Sansa hadn’t taken a husband and had chosen to rule utterly alone. No children would grace her womb and at that moment the Lady had felt despair well up in her. That had always been Sansa’s dream since she was a little girl. To have babes. A handsome and gallant husband who loved her. The Gods were cruel.

“Do not feel sad, mother. I had a good life. A kingdom that loved me. I was...loved.” 

Lady Stoneheart swallowed and clutched at her daughter's hand. It felt cold in her grasp which meant her time was near. She wondered if she felt some level of disgust at the sight of her mother's walking corpse. But then Sansa had dealt with much more horrifying things then the Lady.

She fell into slumber not long after and the Lady watched her breaths carefully until they diminished and then stopped. Slowly she got up and brushed away the grey hair from her brow before leaning over and kissing her forehead. As she walked out of the queen's chamber a maid bowed her head to the Lady before rushing in. A wailing began from the room and the Lady remembered her own cry that was wrenched from her when her firstborn had died. A measter walked slowly by, his body hunched with chains and obvious grief. Her daughter was loved and would be missed. She hesitated at the entrance of the hall.

She knew where she needed to go.

The crypts were someplace she never felt comfortable in when she had been alive but now they welcomed her warmly. No one had stopped her as she walked quietly through Winterfell. More people had taken up the cry as news began to spread that the queen had died. She found peace as she ventured further into the darkness wishing she could grieve with them but no tears would ever again rest upon her cheeks. She found Ned's tomb easily enough though it looked nothing like him. She stared up at him Ice clasped in his hands.

To his right sat Robb with Grey Wind at his feet and the Lady almost wailed at the sight of him. What surprised her more was that at his shoulder stood her own visage in stone. Her hand on Robbs' shoulder. She stepped closer to Robb and looked down at his hands. There cradled carefully was a shell with a smaller shell within it.

Sansa had remembered not only her older brother but his wife and unborn child. The Lady bowed her head and thanked her oldest daughter for her kindness even when their bones didn’t lay here and she had never known them.

She looked to Ned's other side and saw Arya and Rickon mirroring the stance of Robb and their mother. At Rickon's feet sat Shaggydog while Arya stood her sword at her side and a severe look on her face. The Lady cupped Rickon's face and then touched Arya's hand and sighed softly.

She turned and saw her good sister and closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them she noticed on her left side sat Bran. Seated in his chair with a crown upon his brow and a three-eyed raven on his shoulder. She didn’t quite understand the significance but still, she traced her fingers over his crown feeling a bubble of pride.

On Lyanna's right side stood Jon Snow. There was a kindness in placing him here next to his mother, she thought. She knew his bones had been returned to Winterfell after his death but she had never considered them to be here though. It was fitting though. In the end, he was a Stark.

She looked up at him surprised to see a crown also upon his brow a near replica to the one that sat on Robbs. Ghost stood at his side with a stone hand buried in his fur. It was a very good likeness. He did look like Ned though she supposed now knowing who his mother was he just looked like a Stark. His cape dominated his frame though she could see the snarling dire wolf pommel of a great sword, peeking out and high on his chest there had been a dragonfly stamped in the stone near his heart. She frowned once again lost on the significance before shaking her head minutely. It mattered not now.

Lastly, the Lady turned to the end of the hall. Here her entire family were hewn into stone, some with bones that lay beneath them, some without. Looking over them all was the figure of the great Sansa Stark, the red wolf, unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Queen of the North.

The Lady stared up at her daughter in reverence. This wasn’t the old woman she had just watched breath her last. This was the true Queen of the North in all her glory. Forever young and strong she stood watching over her family with a small smile upon her lips.

Whoever had carved her had obviously loved and respected her as the details were astounding. Around her shoulders sat rabbit fur with a beaded wolf heads at her left shoulder which flowed down into feathers. Her breastplate was made up of weirwood branches and that flowed down her dress with soft impressions of weirwood leaves. A chain with a large needle sat at around her hip and the direwolf crown sat upon her brow.

She frowned as her eyes landed on something wrapped around her wrist and she realized it was a squid. The Greyjoy had done right by her in the end saving her from Ramsey and protecting Bran with his life. She couldn't begrudge her daughter wanting to remember him. Her eyes skittered up her arm where she noticed on her sleeve fish scales and the Lady’s lips trembled ever so slightly.

Sansa had a bit of them all with her. Even in her death she still honored them.

And then the Lady noticed something. In the darkness it would have been easy to overlook so she stepped forward and looked at the stone pin carved over Sansa's heart. A winged wolf.

She stepped back and looked over to where Jon Snow stood, realizing the awful truth and understanding the significance of the dragonfly now. Her daughter had loved him as he did, her. Sansa would have never placed it in stone had it not been true for either of them. Her last words before the Stranger took her lingered in the Lady's mind. Perhaps she had found her prince after all. Perhaps they had their moment as Ned and Catelyn had but duty called to them. The Lady’s heart couldn’t break but it felt near enough. She hoped it had been enough for them.

It mattered not now she supposed as she stepped away and moved to her husband's figure. His bones had been returned long ago and he had been destined to be buried next to his father and brother. However, Sansa must have decided to create a new wing for their family. At least here they could be together at last.

It had been so long since they were together. The Lady sat down and leaned her frame against her husband's stone legs. Even if their bones hadn’t been returned the Starks always returned to Winterfell. She could almost feel them here with her, just waiting for her to return to them. She was so weary now, so eager to close her eyes and embrace her death. And so she did.

And the Gods brought her home.

**Author's Note:**

> Jeyne Westerling house sigil is six white seashells on yellow sand.


End file.
